Wing Cut
by Treewater
Summary: It is only after he delivers the artifact into Al Mualim's hands, after he has seen the momentary flush of anger on Altair's face that he survived, that he collapses against a bookshelf. Malik-centric oneshot.


**A/N: **Inspired by MIYOart's "Wing Cut" on deviantArt. Go look at it. Go now. Also, the ending is supposed to be abrupt. Think of the amputation scene from "Pan's Labyrinth" if you're curious. And, followers of "Fever," please see the important update on my front page. Much love!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Assassin's Creed.

**Wing Cut**

Malik's arm is useless. He realizes this as soon as he feels the Templar blade crush into his upper arm, as he feels his skin and muscle part to the touch like reeds, as he hears the dull scrape of metal on bone. Something snaps, he knows, because while he feels some of the most intense pain of his life (pain that makes his spine jerk as he pulls away, that makes his bones vibrate and scream), he cannot feel his fingers or his hand. But he is merely trying to stay alive. His head is too full of his brother's shout and then his silence, so abrupt it feels like Malik is the one who's been stabbed. When he is escaping after seeing Kadar fall thirty feet, he has no thoughts at all. His horse's hooves are pounding in his mind. They sound as though they're saying, "You did well. You have the artifact."

Then he's filled with rage, because the artifact could have been won much more easily and without sacrifice had Altair followed the Creed. Now Altair is alive and Kadar is dead and Malik's fingers still won't move. His elbow no longer works, either. But he isn't really thinking about the ramifications of that. He only feels it, and his frustration increases as a result of this uselessness.

It takes hours to get to Masyaf, but he does. He's dizzy from blood loss and pain, and his sorrow is catching up with his anger. He doesn't dismount from his horse so much as he falls. He lands on his injury, and this causes him to vomit before he scrambles to his feet and rushes to the Fortress and Al Mualim. Part of him still feels pursued. It is only after he delivers the artifact into Al Mualim's hands, after he has seen the momentary flush of anger on Altair's face that he survived, that he collapses against a bookshelf. He doesn't remember so much of what happens after that, but he wakes up in a bed with a softness that he has rarely known. His arm is bandaged tightly to him, so that the cloth is interwoven with the bandages around his chest. He feels drugged, and time slips by in the same way that the linen curtains move in the breeze. It undulates and quivers and occasionally waves like a sail, and when a doctor finally comes in, the sunlight has moved halfway across the room.

"I see you're awake," the doctor says. "How are you feeling?"

"Broken," Malik says. His voice is weak, but surprisingly clear.

The doctor smiles at him and cuts away some of the bandages on his arm. Malik doesn't have the strength to lift his head and look, but the doctor's expression is not comforting. "What is it?" Malik asks. "What's wrong?"

"You've been sleeping for some time," the doctor says.

"This I know," Malik says.

"Your arm," the doctor says. "It must be removed."

The light is suddenly far too fright, and when Malik is next aware of himself, there's a cloth covering his eyes. A brother is in the process of tying down his right arm. Malik feels panic. He feels pain. Someone is taking his wounded arm and extending it out across a table. Malik begins to kick. He tosses his head from side to side in an effort to throw off the cloth, and he succeeds in freeing the left side of his face. He jerks at the sight of the saw held by the doctor. The brother who was tying him down now seeks to hold his hand, but Malik does not feel him.

"Stop," he says. "Stop, please!"

"We can't do that," the doctor says. "You'll die."

The doctor's assistant puts a tourniquet above the flesh that's gotten so distorted it's hardly recognizable. Malik screams, because it hurts and because he is afraid. He hopes someone will help him, but he is in Masyaf, and this is the help. He quiets himself and watches with one wide eye, with tears streaming down into his hair that he is too frightened to blink or wipe away. They're going to cut off his arm. _They're going to cut off his arm._


End file.
